PORTAL

When first arrested
18.
Excited by possibilities of fame;
inflamed by
legends of political prisoners: sure that
Amnesty would free me.

But the days
dragged
into months;
no charge
no sign
of camera toting journalists
from Reuters;
no word
from my family;
no amnesty.

Caught in the cross-hairs of fear,
the only way to mask
the days is by counting the beatings
3 a day
62 days: 186.

Housed in comfort; relative to;
I watch the trials on TV of
my co-conspirators; stomach fisted
waiting
my turn
but they are too embarrassed to try me.

6 months later
unable to hold me any longer and
no doubt alarmed
at how much it
costs
to feed me; they give in
I am free to go.

1987,
deciding to take them on
I
stand
daily; reciting their crimes in epics
daring them: ‘Go on. Kill me. Make me famous.’

They do
But 20 is not 18
Guns, boots, truncheons, knuckles
I realise – too late
this time it’s for real
I’ve had my dress rehearsal.

Pain draws out time razor sharp
but I am unbeaten;
I martyr my anger
Profaning their idolatrous power
again;
Straight to jail; I do not pass go.

Shovelling
with three fingers cold corn porridge
into my mouth,
the enormity of it:
I am being held by killers
and nobody knows I’m here.

Kiri Kiri
Maximum Security prison
D wing; or E, I forget
with the worst of the head cases:
Fela Anikulapo Kuti
smiling: ‘Truth, my young friend, is a risky business.’


originele titel: 'PORTAL'




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